


How to Be a Good Friend, Feat. Zack Fair

by sciencemyfiction



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, a nice little fic about zack taking sephiroth out for drinks to make friends, anxiety zack!, found this on my tumblr from 2015, posting it here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencemyfiction/pseuds/sciencemyfiction
Summary: What do you do to befriend a military genius who lives separate from society and doesn't get your jokes?Take him to a bar and try to get to know each other better, maybe, thinks Zack Fair.
Relationships: Zack Fair & Sephiroth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	How to Be a Good Friend, Feat. Zack Fair

Being friends with Sephiroth, like anybody, is complicated. Takes a lot of work, if not as much time as it seems like it should. Zack just does what he does, like an artist throwing paint at a wall haphazardly to see what colors stick. With people like Reno it’s easy. Everything sticks. Sephiroth’s a bit more challenging. Imagine our artist, a wall, and a sprinkler system that dispenses turpentine. What’s the solution? 

Move the wall. 

That’s what brings them here, in the middle of Sector 5 in a run-down bar that’s barely heard of the guy sitting next to him. Zack’s fingers fidget nervously. Sephiroth, who seems to do everything as minimally as possible, lifts one eyebrow and comments lightly, “So, we’re here. Now what?”

“Uh! Yeah so– tell me more about what it’s like to travel, I guess! We’ll order drinks and just– whatever! Right? Y’know.”

“You know what it’s like to travel,” Sephiroth counters. Is he frowning or smiling? All Zack’s really aware of is that the palms of his hands are sweaty. He can never read Sephiroth. That gets to him– Zack’s a people person, he prides himself on being charming, being good with people. He wants to be good with Sephiroth too. Did anybody ever need a friend as much as somebody who’s isolated and famous? Well, no, don’t answer that. Maybe he’s wrong. 

He doesn’t want to _be_ wrong, though. “I dunno I’m just– trying to think of something you might want to talk about.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Huh?” Zack hesitates, jerking his hand back down for a moment before he remembers that he threw it up to signal for the barkeep’s attention. They seem to be engaged in a serious conversation at the opposite end of the bar, but acknowledge him with a half-nod, and he lowers his hand again, settling in to wait. “Uh, hell. I’ll eat anything. Ramen’s good, though! And uh– fried rice, cheezums, fruit if you can get it…”

When he realizes that Sephiroth is staring, Zack trails off awkwardly. It’s like he just can’t tell when to keep talking and when to stop. Normally, social interaction comes easily to him, but here there’s some kind of pressure to maintain normalcy while being perfectly aware of the unusualness that is spending time with Sephiroth. 

“Heh, weird food habits, huh? That’s me,” he mumbles awkwardly. 

Sephiroth acts always in a manner that suggests conservation of energy. He could shake his head or throw out his hands or clap Zack on the back, but he just twitches his lips, slight smile, and looks away as the bartender approaches them. “What should we have?”

“Whatever!” Saved! Maybe! “Whatever you like, that is. I’ll have that Brandy they make down in Kalm, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, plenty of it,” says the barkeep. “And you?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Sephiroth says challengingly, and Zack notices a slight smirk, maybe, in the shadows cast by the bar’s smoky lighting across Sephiroth’s face. “Make mine a double, if you would.”

The barkeep nods, unbothered, and Zack tries to keep a straight face. 

Not his forte. 

“Youuuu are fucking with me!” he declares, not sure if he’s pissed he fell for it or incredulous Sephiroth would do it. Or glad. He laughs because glad is the best feeling, and really, he is _relieved._ The little anxiety voice that always runs at the back of Zack’s thoughts was shrieking that he’d totally ruined it, everything, he was gonna get sent home and Sephiroth was going to personally evict him from his rooms. 

Sometimes that’s how it is, no big. Zack can be relieved now and Sephiroth is actually like, _openly_ smiling, _what a cheeseball grin,_ and that’s good and Zack’s good too. 

“You absolute bastard. What the fuck is wrong with ramen?”

“Nutritionally, emotionally…spiritually?”

“You judgmental slob! I’ve seen what you eat.”

“I take supplements.”

Zack scoffs. 

“Which I sincerely doubt has ever crossed your mind.”

The barkeep returns, laying out their shotglasses with practiced ambivalence about the conversation that they probably are overhearing. Zack could let it slide, but this– trade of joking insults thing– this is good, he likes this, so he hams it up, putting a hand to his chest and sighing melodramatically. 

“That was low. That was a low blow. I totally take supplements.”

“Such as?”

“Such– uh!” Zack hastily throws back his shot to pretend he doesn’t need to answer. It burns going down but it’s one of the sweetest brandies he’s ever had. Good stuff. “ _Egh._ Such as– vitaminnnn– G.”

“Vitamin G.”

“Yup.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Hey, this is a very– uh, _real_ thing that helps keeps my–”

“Sure.” Sephiroth takes his drinks much more languidly, tipping them back sip by sip. He makes the double shot last as long as it takes to look utterly derisive. He’s a comedy genius. Zack’s spluttering. 

“–my– glutes, or something, in proper– oh come on, Seph, they don’t really pay me enough to go buy gourmet dinners, you know?”

“If you learned how to cook you wouldn’t have to get street food.”

“ _Eugh,_ no thanks.” 

As Sephiroth polishes off the last of his drink, Zack catches a flicker of movement at the back of the bar over Sephiroth’s shoulder and leans around him to get a better look. This would be fine, except he’s perched kind of at the edge of his barstool, and begins to tip almost immediately backward. The commotion on the other side of the bar is a poker game. Two women fighting, both look tough, looks like the scrawnier one cheated–

Aaaand he’s falling. 

“–shit shit _shit!”_

 _Aaaand…_ Sephiroth catches him, effortlessly righting him with one warm hand on Zack’s chest. 

Zack stammers. 

“Thanks, sorry, I–”

Sephiroth’s hand lingers there a moment longer, and then he pulls it away. It takes a hard gulp for air and a weak little shake of his head for Zack to find his stride again. 

“Whew. You’re a number on my nerves.”

Sephiroth’s brows tighten very slightly, that minimal motion thing, but he doesn’t speak up, just looks down at the now empty shotglass cupped between his slender, dangerous fingers. 

They don’t talk much more than that; the argument becomes a brawl, and even off-duty, they both are the best equipped to put out that fire before it gets too out of control. Ultimately, they have to call it a night early, and Zack apologizes all the way back to HQ. 

When they get there, Sephiroth stops him, hand on his shoulder. _Shit._ Anxiety voice is back and blaring, and Zack is sweating but hopefully his smile isn’t too shaky. 

“I’m _really_ sorry, Sephir–”

“That was fun,” Sephiroth says, simply and sternly, probably sick of listening to Zack apologize. Or maybe worried about him? Or– “We should do it again sometime.”

Zack feels himself smiling before he realizes he’s doing it, then tries to school his expression into something cool and collected. No luck. That is not his style. 

“Yeah!” He says, voice a little too loud, and then again, “Yeah, uh, yeah! Sure, I would love t-”

“I’ll cook, you bring the booze,” Sephiroth decides, and turns to leave. 

It had never occurred to Zack in even the remotest part of his mind that Sephiroth could cook. He doesn’t recover from that revelation until Sephiroth is well, well out of sight. 


End file.
